The House On The Hill
by Nonsuch
Summary: "He has tried to trap me three times – two attempts failed outright, and the success of the third is, at present, undetermined." Written for the latest LabyFic livejournal community challenge.


_**A/N - This was written for the current writing challenge on the Laby Fic livejournal community, which requests that people write a story with two elements: a big, creaky house and noises of a goblin-y nature. Anyone can participate in the challenge, so head over to the community if you want to find out more about taking part!**_

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**The House On The Hill**

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He has tried to trap me three times – two attempts failed outright, and the success of the third is, at present, undetermined.

The first trap was a crystal, which gleamed far more brightly than it had any right to. I used it as a lamp when I did my homework at my desk, taking care not to touch the flawless surface and wearing a pair of sink gloves whenever I needed to transfer it to my bottom drawer. It was kept in that drawer – my most cluttered, crowded drawer, which also contained abandoned pots of nail varnish and numerous scrunchies – whenever I was out, well clear of my step-mother's inconveniently inquisitive hands.

The second trap was a letter, heavily scented with peaches. It arrived mid-winter when the fire in the lounge burned every evening. I waited until my parents went out, then tossed the letter into the fire. The flames flashed white and reared up in the hearth, emitting a strange, pained hiss. When my parents returned, I watched their faces closely. They frowned at nothing from the sofa, their gazes eventually drifting to the empty fruit bowl on the coffee table. Neither of them said a word, and neither of them saw me smile.

The third trap was separated from the first two by several years and considerably better tactics. I was staying with my mother in England for the summer, my last summer before I was due to start college in Florida. When she wasn't working, my mother lived in Kent with her boyfriend. They occupied an uncannily perfect cottage in an uncannily perfect village; I had decided that both were uncanny from the photos I'd been sent, and the impression only deepened when I arrived. Everything was quaint, immaculate and – I quickly found – intrinsically dull; the uneasiness I felt upon my arrival was soon replaced with boredom. The residents were mostly older, and all spoke about nothing in particular with slight variations on the same cut-glass accent. The surrounding fields were stocked with unnaturally clean horses and rare breeds of sheep, and the place was wrapped in a permanent silence that I quickly came to find unbearable.

My mother did her best to make time for me, but was too busy taking long calls and reading dull scripts to spare me more than a few hours a day. When we did venture beyond the village, it was for marathon shopping trips and compliment-strewn meetings with agents and producers. Every trip to London for these meetings deepened my resentment of my isolation, and every performance I attended with my mother heightened my anticipation for the start of my course. I tried to escape from the boredom of the village by reading my mother's extensive collection of plays, devouring everything from Jacobean tragedies to frothy comedies. I learned particularly impressive passages by heart, having somehow reached the conclusion that nothing could impress my fellow 18-year-old drama students more than the ability to recite extended passages from '_Tis A Pity She's A Whore_.

But even I couldn't sustain myself on reading alone, and I complemented the long hours holed up inside in the company of books with walks through the countryside. Once I was a few miles away from the village, I always felt better – freer and more engaged by my surroundings. I enjoyed listening to the birds and spooking the cows in the fields, and I felt contented when I squinted far into the distance and made out the tiny churches and tiny farms scattered across the landscape.

One day, when I was following the path up the hill I normally took, I noticed something moving quickly through the grass. I was used to rabbits, and watched carefully to see if I'd come across a tame one. The creature froze in the grass when it sensed me, as rabbits are wont to do, and stared straight at me. It was perhaps ten feet away, and I could see it clearly. It resembled a rabbit, but only in the sense that a child's drawing of a rabbit resembles one. It had two large, pointed ears and a fluffy tail, but that's where the truly rabbit-like features ended. Its black eyes were enormous and spherical, and its skin was more flesh than fur and covered with scars and marks. It had ugly, curling claws and its face appeared astonishing stupid. I didn't doubt what I was looking at for a moment. For the first time since the Labyrinth, I was face-to-face with a goblin.

Before I could say a word, the goblin turned and darted away through the grass. I gave chase, veering from the path and running through a meadow as I kept my eyes on my target. I ran and ran, never losing sight of the goblin as it bounded away from me. I didn't lose my breath and I didn't lose the goblin – at least, I didn't lose it until it wanted me to. All of a sudden, it simply vanished; I was left surrounded by still, undisturbed grass. I looked around myself, confused. Then I saw it – a few dozen feet ahead of me, there was a house. It was perhaps three storeys high, with a weird muddle of a roof and an assortment of mismatched windows. It was painted in dark colours and rose up from the grass unnaturally, like a great black shadow. It had no gate or garden. I could sense the freshly disturbed earth settling beneath my feet, and it was a strange sensation; it reminded me of every road trip I'd ever gone on with my Auntie Maude, who was as heavy as prize bull and made the car sink by a few inches every time.

Of course, I knew that magic was involved. Houses didn't simply appear in meadows without gardens or gates, and houses in this particular area didn't look anything like this – this monstrous assembly of rotten wood and mismatched windows would have given my mother's neighbours' heart palpitations. No, this house had been deposited in the meadow just for me, and I knew exactly who was responsible for it.

As I walked towards the door, I thought about the previous traps that had been set for me. I imagined that the crystal would have whisked me away to the Labyrinth if I'd touched it with a naked finger. The letter almost certainly contained some kind of fiendish assembly of words, carefully designed to entrap me. My friends had given me enough warnings about the Goblin King for me to know his tactics inside out. I had to admit that the house was a different sort of gesture from the others, much grander and far harder to dismiss. Still, I can't say it was out of character; if anything, the ostentatiousness of it made it positively predictable. Reason told me to turn and run home as fast as my feet could take me, but my curiosity – on this day, the stronger part of me– told me to enter. I was bored, you see, and boredom can be a powerful precursor to reckless behaviour.

I didn't need to knock – the door swung open in welcome upon my approach. I stopped then, good sense briefly dominating as I looked around for something to prop the door open with. After a scavenge, I found a thick, heavy branch which I dragged across the grass to the door, heaving it into my arms and depositing it across the threshold with a satisfied grunt. I wiped my brow, which had gained a thick coating of sweat, and entered.

The first thing I noticed was the laughter. It seemed to come from the higher levels of the building, and echoed in a way that suggested the rafters were loaded with goblins. This impression was supported by the occasional clatter of claws over timber. Of course, when I looked up I couldn't see a thing. I soon gave up on trying to see through the shadows, and instead took in my surroundings. The interior of the building was formed entirely from wood and stone, and it smelled potently of dried wax, dust and rot. The walls were plain and panelled, and I was slightly reassured to find that the stairs linking the floors didn't circumvent the laws of gravity. The place seemed poorly maintained, but habitable if you weren't fussy. Having seen the Goblin King's castle first-hand, I wasn't surprised by the standards.

I resolved to ignore the sustained sniggering, holding my head up high and walking towards the double doors straight ahead of me. I could make out a faint glow coming through the gap at the bottom of the doors. It was clear where I was meant to go.

I pushed down on the handle and opened the door to find a shamelessly forbidding room; it stank of spices, and I could make out numerous large, strange shapes hidden deeper in the darkness that filled the room. I had a sense that the room was large from the way my footsteps echoed on the stone floor, but could only see what was illuminated by the fire burning in the large, black hearth. Two chairs were positioned by the fire, and one of them was occupied by the Goblin King. His clothes were more muted and carefully tailored than I remembered, and his skin had a more natural tone in the light of the fire. He stared fixedly at the flames, and I was startled when he spoke.

"You didn't knock."

I hesitated before replying. The remark wasn't really the sort of ice breaker I'd been expecting. "Well, I assumed the invitation was there, given that the front door opened for me."

"An admissible conclusion. Sit." He gestured to the chair besides his, and I sat obediently.

He raised his eyes to me once I'd taken my seat, and regarded me openly. His gaze didn't feel lewd, primarily because it remained fixed firmly on my face. I locked eyes with him and stared back until his grave expression faltered, and he laughed freely. Laughter made him seem much younger than I remembered. "Like your manners, your lovely face hasn't changed."

I responded with a tight smile. I had attended enough meetings with my mother for compliments to leave me cold. "Why are you here, Goblin King? Why is this house here?"

He leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice to a soft, almost musical tone. "I see you have become a very practical girl. I am sure you have little time on your hands – there are familiar paths to walk, and books to read again. So I will answer your questions directly. I am here because I wanted to see you – I find you inexplicably interesting, and my previous invitations were cruelly ignored." He paused for a moment, pointedly moving his hand to his heart and issuing a small, pained sigh. I rolled my eyes. "As for the second question, this house can be anywhere I need it to be. Its foundations lie in Bradford–"

"Where's Bradford?" I interrupted. The judgement in the glare he gave me made me wish I'd kept my mouth shut.

"West Yorkshire, several hundred miles from here. As that information should make clear, this house is not bound by the constraints that keep ordinary houses rooted to a single spot. I inherited it several centuries ago, and it has proven itself exceptionally convenient in the intervening years."

I was silent for a few moments, mulling over the many implications of this information. In the end, my remark was mundane. Stupidly so. "You're capable of moving this house hundreds of miles at will, but you can't keep it clean? The air here is full of dust."

The Goblin King sat back in his chair, his mouth a thin, harsh line. "How cutting you are when met with wonders. Why should I waste magic on domestic tasks? But I do thank you. I will be sure to arrange suitable punishments for those responsible. Have you any ideas for tortures, sweet Sarah?"

I went quiet, shaking my head and avoiding his eyes. Somehow, I'd allowed myself to forget his capacity for cruelty.

Eventually, he broke the ensuing silence. "And how about you? What made you decide to accept an invitation so clearly made by your vile enemy? You did not hesitate to reject the others."

"You caught me at the right time. I guess I was bored, and while you're not particularly safe, you are exciting."

He half-bowed in his seat, which managed to win him a small smile. "I see you are not only capable of dealing in insults today, Sarah."

There was a new playfulness to his voice that I wasn't sure I liked, so I hurried to change the course of the conversation. "So, who did you inherit this place from? Do you have a family?"

He looked me as if I'd just posed a fundamentally ridiculous question. "Can you imagine me in a crib?"

I thought hard, and I thought in vain. "No, I suppose I can't. But if you don't have a family, who did you inherit this place from?"

His mouth turned downward slightly in distaste, as if he were recalling something deeply unpleasant. "A great, ugly child of a man with a mania for witchcraft and magic. He summoned me, attempted to run my Labyrinth and lost. He had no family living, and I felt it only right that his earthly possessions fell to me. I deserved some kind of compensation for suffering his presence, and had need of a base for my operations in England. I hardly rested for the entire sixteenth century, and this landmass proved a particular fruitful source of discontent and superstition."

"I guess you're not quite as in demand now, given all the time you're able to devote to me."

"Circumstances have allowed me to take a more selective approach to my work." He paused, and returned his attention to my face. I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or disturbed by the attention, and was starting to feel constricted by the dark, dry atmosphere of the house. It seemed that the numerous windows I had seen from the outside were shuttered. I was relieved when he spoke again. "Can I tempt you with some tea?"

I was on the cusp of saying yes; the prospect sounded pleasant. But before I could say yes, I heard goblin claws clatter quietly in the distance and remembered precisely who my charming companion was. "No, thank you," I replied, looking firmly at my lap. "I would like to look around the house, though."

"Wouldn't you prefer to visit the Labyrinth? You have made your disapproval of this place abundantly clear."

I did my best to keep my face impassive. As much as the prospect thrilled me, I couldn't return to the Labyrinth. If I went back, there would be no door for me to prop open with a branch. "I'd rather not, thank you. I got a good look last time."

"You saw but a sliver of it. The Labyrinth is where the true wonders lie. There is not much here for you to see."

"Well, that's your opinion," I announced, getting to my feet. "This house is hundreds of years old. It's got to contain something interesting." I turned and looked towards the door, only to find the Goblin King blocking the exit. My body tensed, and I watched his every move.

"If you insist on exploring, I will escort you." He turned his back to me and, with a sweep of his hand, the double doors swung open for us.

I walked towards the waiting door with a scowl; I hated being instructed. The hollow-sounding reverberation of my footsteps reminded me of the room's size, and I looked back over my shoulder. "But what about the rest of this room? Can't we look around here first?"

"I keep certain areas of this house in shadow with good reason. Now, come." He paused after stepping into the entrance hall. I soon realized he was staring at the front door, which was swinging forlornly against the branch, kept from closing. I was glad to see out – the sky was a brilliant blue and the grass appeared vividly green and alive through the opening. The splashes of colour made the gloominess of the house far more striking. I took an instinctive step towards the door, but stopped at the sound of the Goblin King's voice. "Did you put that piece of dead wood across my threshold?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't trust you to keep the door open."

"You realize that I could burn that branch into ashes if I chose to, don't you?"

"Of course. If you can make a house appear from nothing, you can burn a branch. But I know you won't."

"So, you do trust me? How contradictory you are today."

I turned my head to look at him, pleased to finally have a kind of upper hand. "No. I just know you wouldn't like having me as a prisoner. I'm here on a visit, and wanted to make a statement to that effect." Moving more confidently than before, I walked towards the staircase and put my hand on the rail. "Does the tour start here?"

It turned out it did. I led, posing questions to the Goblin King ("when was it built?" "1512." "What wood is this?" "Oak." "Who built it?" "A gaggle of incompetent tradesmen under the employ of a drunk named Samuel Rowe." "How did you find all that out?" "Why, I asked the house") as we slowly climbed the long flight of stairs, the light emanating from the door weakening with every step. He remained close behind me, and when he was silent I was as aware of his presence as I was aware of my own shadow. I stopped by a glass cabinet at the top of the stairs, squinting through the misty glass and trying to make out its contents. "Have you got any light?"

As soon as the question left me, the hallway was illuminated. I looked up, but could see no source of light – there was only a strange, anchorless glow. I was too accustomed to magic to be astonished, and quickly returned my gaze to the cabinet. I immediately covered my mouth to muffle a scream. The misty glass had concealed a row of mounted heads, all from different creatures and all discoloured and deformed. There was a wolf's head with three eyes and a split snout that was held together with crude stitches, a dog's head with rubies where its eyes should have been and a tiger's head with dull, blue stripes criss-crossing its brittle white fur. Aghast, I turned to the Goblin King. "If you're happy to show me things like this, I dread to think what's downstairs." I cast my mind back to the strange dark shapes that I'd just been able to make out in the shadows, and was suddenly grateful that they'd been kept hidden.

"Dread is what the shadows in this house ought to inspire. The previous owner – who was quite mad, by human standards – had the material means to indulge his fantasies, and sought to create new creatures to satisfy his fevered imagination. I find them rather crude myself, akin to attempts to strap a narwhal's horn to a horse's head. But you should save your fear – these horrors are mild compared to the rest."

Though the creatures were thoroughly dead and, by extension, thoroughly harmless, I moved along quickly. I could feel the house pulsing with magic, and I trusted nothing to remain still. It took my heart a few moments and a generous distance to settle.

"You really would prefer the Labyrinth to this, Sarah dear. This place can only be described as macabre."

I kept on walking, and didn't look behind me. "Macabre, sure, but interesting. This place brings all those Jacobean revenge tragedies I've been reading to life."

"And what have you been reading?"

"Stuff by Ford, Webster, Middleton. The usual suspects."

"Ah yes, I recall the first performance of _The Changeling_. Sadly, the plot didn't live up to the promise of the title."

Since I'd been bluffing when it came to reading Middleton, I merely nodded and said nothing, cursing myself silently for forgetting the nature of my company.

"Sarah," I stopped and looked back at his call of my name. "I believe you will like this particular room." I had a missed a door hidden by a thick curtain; it was an unremarkable door except for its handle, which was small, elegant and cut from glass. It shone brilliantly in the strange light which illuminated the hall, and I couldn't help but move towards it.

"What's through it?"

He said nothing, merely smiling and standing besides the door.

With an exasperated sigh, I took hold of the handle. It felt cold, and the corners of it pressed hard against my palm. I turned it quickly, and was glad to let it go.

The room we entered had no need of artificial light; it had three huge windows and a ceiling that reached high above us, curving and culminating in a gilded dome. The air was perfumed, sweet to taste and a pleasure to breathe; we'd left the stifling, dead air that permeated the rest of the building decisively behind us. The walls were white and the furniture was elegant and painted in bright, carnival-esque colors. A large bed, neatly made with soft pink sheets, was the centrepiece of the room. It was the sort of bedroom my room at home, with its flimsy canopy and cheap floral curtains, had always aspired to be. I soon realized who the room was meant for.

I moved to the nearest window and looked out. I couldn't feel surprised by what I saw, for I had realized I was being tempted. The Labyrinth stretched out before me. It looked far better than it had before, when wonder had been overwhelmed by my single-minded determination to win. This time, I saw the Labyrinth as it truly was, alive with colour and variety and vast beyond comprehension. I raised a hand to the window pane almost unconsciously, a part of me wishing I could touch a hedge or a flower and know for certain that it was real.

"This room isn't part of the house, is it?" My voice was quiet, and much calmer than it probably should have been. I continued to look out, stroking my thumb over the glass.

"No. It is part of the castle."

"So we're in the Labyrinth already?"

"In a sense. This is an in-between place. It connects to your world and to mine. It is a ghost of its former self, more magic than material. As I told you, it is most convenient."

"Convenient for your baby-napping operations, you mean," I joked feebly, hoping for a laugh that didn't come. When I turned around, I did so slowly. I knew it would be difficult to look upon his face and all it promised, and I was right; I had to swallow hard as I looked at him, and tilted my head up slightly before speaking. "You know I'm not going back, don't you?"

"I will not force your return. You may be an ignorant child, but some wisdom underlies your bravado. You would make a poor ghost of a prisoner; I would much rather keep you free."

I nodded vaguely, not fully registering his words. If I had registered them, I would have probably passionately denied that I was ignorant. "Is this room for me?"

"Yes. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful."

The Goblin King closed the distance between us, taking one of my hands in both of his. He held it with exquisite tenderness, stroking my fingers until they stopped shaking. I hadn't realized they'd been shaking until the shaking stopped. "You crave wonder, Sarah. I can provide you with enough wonders to last you a thousand years. I can give you _everything_. What can a mortal life offer you besides disappointment, decay, death? You entered this place willingly, without fear – you want to return. Why deny it?"

I moved my hand to his face, moved by his words and empowered that the desperation that undercut them. I stroked his cheek as he had stroked my hand, and regarded him sadly. "You're probably right. My life will almost certainly hold everything you say it will. But I still want to live it. Your world is wonderful, I'm not denying that, but I'm not sure it's any better than mine. I haven't lived enough to be able to make a fair comparison. I will visit it again, one day, when I feel ready to. But I can't go back now."

"Why?" his voice was tight, and he moved a hand of his own to keep my hand pressed against his face.

"Because I might be tempted to stay."

Before he could say another word to me, I tore my hand free of his face and ran. I ran from the room and across the hall; the light had left it, and I couldn't see a thing. I was almost certain I'd lost my way until I saw a pair of ruby eyes glinting at me from the cabinet; I reached out and felt the hard, pitted wood of the bannister that ran alongside the stairs. I hurried down them without pause and without looking back, too afraid to check to see if the footsteps behind me were real or imagined. I saw more and more with every step, the light from the door rapidly becoming brighter. My heart soared when I saw the colours of the sky and the meadow through the crack in the door, and I ran across the entrance hall to pull the door open. I pulled at it as hard as I could, but it wouldn't budge. It was as hard and immobile as rock, and the crack in the door served only to mock me. I could put my hand through and feel a warm breeze upon my skin, but I couldn't get through.

"The door won't open, Sarah."

I turned and glared, all of my former compassion gone. He was stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression maddeningly casual. "You mean you won't let it open."

He looked up at the rafters, assuming a thoughtful expression. "That's certainly true, for now at least."

"Stop stalling!" It was hard not to shriek from the frustration of it.

"I may open it. If you thank me."

"Thank you, Goblin King," I said, my voice ripe with insincerity. I tugged at the door again, but it remained immobile.

"I'm afraid I don't believe you're being entirely sincere."

"But how can I be sincere? Spell it out for me, go on. What exactly do I need to do for you to open that door?"

He turned his eyes directly to mine, every trace of mischief gone. "Kiss me. Kiss me, and I will be content. Kiss me, and you will be free."

I stared at him, and blinked three times. I'd feared this sort of demand, but knew there were worse things he could have asked of me. Aware I had to act before he did, I closed the gap between us, placed a hand on either side of his face and put my mouth to his. I didn't have a great deal of experience with kisses, and the kiss I gave him was far from spectacular – I'd say it was sloppy. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be kissed; he was shocked, I think. I could feel his hand brushing tentatively against my hair at the moment I withdrew.

I stared at him with a steeliness I didn't feel, and repeated my request. "Open the door." My voice was imperious, stripped of any semblance of emotion. It was my greatest line delivery to date.

The strong breeze on my back told me the door had been opened. "Goodbye, Jareth." I gave a curt nod to accompany my farewell.

He made a deep bow, his elegance putting my gesture to shame. "I am pleased that you remember my name, Sarah Williams. You may go and be free, but know that we will miss you."

I had been about to turn, but paused at his remark. "What do you mean by that?"

"Why, simply that the house and I will miss you with equal sorrow. A house cannot exist as long as this one without developing a character, you understand."

"Yes, I think I do."

I smiled, turned and left without another word. It felt strange to stand on grass again, and my steps were slow and cautious to begin with. When I tried to walk faster, I found I could not. It was then that I realised something was wrong. The air was still old and hard to breathe, and though I was facing the scenic view with its tiny churches and tiny farms I could feel the ancient house pulling at my legs and willing me to return. I could hear laughter emanating from it, hysterical, shrieking laughter that was starting to sound like a breathless scream. I attempted to move more quickly, but my feet felt like lead. The laughter grew progressively louder with distance, the pull of the house stronger. I longed to look back, but knew I could not. Each step was a labour. The laughter filled the hills and swallowed every other sound. It couldn't possibly grow any louder, and I was waiting for it to reach crescendo.

But the crescendo didn't come. Instead, the laughter stopped the moment I placed a foot on the path. The instant it stopped, everything was normal again. I could hear the birds singing, and my feet felt free. The air tasted clean and delicious, and I drew it in with great, greedy gulps to replace the old, smothering air that had filled the house. I ran back to the cottage at breakneck speed, making the cows stare at me from the fields and alarming a pair of ramblers who were mulling over a map at the foot of the hill.

I spent the rest of the day locked in my mother's guestroom, reading _The Changeling_ from cover to cover and learning that I shared Jareth's opinion of it.

I'm at college now; it has its moments. None of the moments have been magical, but they have been memorable. I'll never forget the first time I passed out at a party, or the first time I tasted proper Chinese tea. But the moments of my student life that I recall vividly are few; I know they're shared by countless others, not tailored to the peculiarities of my imagination. By contrast, I haven't forgotten a single detail of the house; I know my experience of it is unique to me. I can still remember the flavor of its dust and the quality of the laughter rooted in its rafters. I remember my room, and how sweet it tasted on my tongue. Best of all, I remember how beautiful and wild the Labyrinth looked, both real and not real in the most enticing way imaginable. I also remember the kiss, and while I am not sure what feeling to attach to it, I know it was a success. Thanks to the kiss, I know that my hold on him is far greater than his hold on me.

I expect to see the house again one day. When I do, I plan to make it beyond the hallway of the second floor.

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_**A/N - Many thanks to NiennaTelruynya for beta-ing this - you're a diamond! And please do review, readers - nothing's better than getting feedback!**_


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